Refrain
by Bronsky Ellia
Summary: Harry goes back in the 1940-s to help Tom become something other than a mass-murdering megallomaniac. Will it turn out like Harry had planned?
1. Prologue

The sun was shining through the dusty windows of the hospital ward, its bright yellow rays creating a curious pattern on the dirty brown floor boards and bed sheets, which were gray and rough from the many times they had been washed. The glass full of murky water on the bedside cabinet caught one of the stray sun rays and split it in several blinking daggers of light, flying in all directions, merrily glistening on metal frames of the bed. The mirror in the far corner of the room shared this false happiness, reflecting the same sparkles of light.

One of the fiercely bright rays reached Tom, who was lying on one of the beds, the light unceremoniously piercing his watery eyes, making him see stars and increasing the headache he had been unsuccessfully fighting since the previous night. Squinting and squirming on the bed, trying to slither further under the thin wool blanket and hide his face with it, Tom cursed his luck for the umpteenth time this morning.

If not for this stupid sickness, he would be outside with the rest of the orphanage kids, catching the last warm weather before the beginning of autumn with its mists, rain and cold winds.

Not that Tom was very fond of playing in mud, which covered their yard during any season. He preferred to sit in the secluded corner under the half-dead tree supporting the roof of the orphanage by one of its corners with one of the few books they were allowed to take from the small library outside the school year. He still liked the warmness of summer sun and coolness of the light breeze from the port, bringing smells of salt, fish and wet nets, making him think of sea and freedom.

Unfortunately, now he had to stay in the gloomy hospital room stinking of medicine and herbs under the stinging old blanket, shivering from slight fever and coughing his lungs out every other minute, because the day before yesterday the other orphan boys managed to lock him in the cold basement filled with water after the recent shower-rain.

The caretakers made them all go down there to help remove the flood, but in the end nasty Jimmy Chew and his gang jokingly locked the door with Tom inside and conveniently lost the key somewhere in the muddy yard. Tom spent several hours in the basement filled with water up to his knees, while everyone was searching for the keys. If it was not Tom, but some other kid, the caretakers would break the door to free the child, but unfortunately Tom was not among their favorites.

When he was sitting in the locked basement he remembered that one time he was allowed to accompany Mrs. Cole to the port. Honestly speaking, she took him in hopes that the boy would be lost among the sailors, soldiers and merchants crowding the place. Tom knew that, but still went with her and even agreed to help her carry huge heavy sacks with fish flour, which she purchased at the lowered price.

So he was not surprised that the adults decided to look for the key instead of breaking in: he was not worth the price they would pay for the repairs of the basement door.

When they finally opened the door after finding the spare key in the place of the one lost in the yard, Tom was already running a fever. They put him in the small hospital ward of the orphanage and seemed to forget about the incident – and of Tom – completely.

When he finally realized that today no one would come to bring him any food or medicine, Tom slowly stood up and began to dress. It was time for lunch and he was feeling a little hungry, and would gladly kill for something to ease his headache.

Tom managed to put on only his trousers, when he heard some strange noise outside the door to the ward. A man's voice was coming through the creaks in the walls: someone argued loudly with Mrs. Cole, insisting that he needs to see 'the boy' immediately and doesn't care about a fever and possible infection.

Shrugging, Tom took his shirt from the chair, which stood near the bed, but never managed to put it on before the door opened behind him.

Someone gasped loudly. Tom turned on his heels quickly, trying to see what had happened, but the rash motion made his head spin and he swayed on his feet.

'Careful!' a stranger caught Tom by the elbow, steadying him and, before Tom knew, he was swept from his feet into man's arms. 'What are these?!' asked a man in angry voice, touching Tom's back with the tips of his fingers and tracing old scars from the baton and belt there.

'The boy is no angel, mister. Sometimes the kid needs to learn his lesson the hard way.'

'Corporal punishment?!' a stranger whispered harshly, his eyes gleaming with fury. 'We are leaving immediately! I'll send you the necessary papers with my lawyer!' and the next second he was carrying Tom out of the ward. 'Hey, lad! Do you have anything of value in your room? I'm taking you away from this place,' the stranger explained.

Tom shrugged uncomfortably and shook his head silently. He was still feeling dizzy from the fever and shivered slightly, though the man's body heat helped a bit.

'Ah, I forgot!' the man clumsily tried to dress Tom in the shirt the boy was still clutching tightly in his fists. 'My name is Harry, by the way.'

'I'm Tom,' came a quiet response. Tom didn't know why he was feeling shy all of a sudden, he had never felt this way with any of the potential parents coming to choose a child for adoption, but this man made him want to show his better side and to hide all his wrong doings and traces of his old sins.

'Ah. Nice to meet you, Tom. I don't think I need to ask if you want to leave this dingy hole, eh?' the stranger – no, Harry – gave Tom a one-side crooked smile and winked at him.

'Yes, please,' even more quietly answered Tom. 'If you have me, that is.'

'Now-now, don't be like this. I've came for you, didn't I? Not for some John Smith, but specifically for you. For Tom Riddle. And if you're certain you don't need to collect your things, then we'll leave right this moment and never come back here.'

Tom nodded minutely.

'We shouldn't own anything, Mrs. Cole says,' the boy murmured as explanation.

This Harry person just shook his head disapprovingly and went to the door in sure strides, still holding Tom in his arms.

In mere minutes Harry carried him out of the orphanage and along the nearby street to the narrow passage between houses. He walked deeper into the small alley towards the very end of it, where several huge garbage bins were standing, the nasty decaying smell emanating from under the half-closed lids. Tom thought that maybe the passage led to the parallel street, but instead they came to the high brick wall. Harry stepped into the deepest shadow there were, right in the very corner between the building and the wall and finally put Tom down, although he immediately brought him closer to himself in a tight embrace.

'Wh-what are you d-doing?!' Tom mumbled scared. He had heard of men who 'adopted' young boys from the orphanage for the hefty fine paid to the caretakers to close their eyes on the ungodly act, but who did nasty and dirty things with kids. The things, of which the elder boys spoke and which they sometimes did, too, to each other or to the younger ones. There had been several girls in Wool's, but they were taken by the foster parents more often, and they were almost as wild and fierce (and sometimes even more violent) in their struggles than the boys, when it came to the rough plays of the elder orphans.

'I'll explain in a minute. And now stay still,' urged him Harry. Tom still tried to struggle free of his embrace. He didn't like to be touched or held so closely. He suddenly realized, that his shyness was probably due to the stranger taking him into his arms earlier. 'No, don't – !' Harry exclaimed, when Tom managed to break free. 'I'm not going to do anything to you! Tom! Tom, I promise – !'

But it was too late – the boy turned on his heels and ran out of the alley to the more crowded street in hopes, that Harry wouldn't dare to follow him there.

Unfortunately, Tom's sickness didn't allow him to ran for long and after about half-hour of wild chase along the streets he was caught by heavily breathing Harry.

'Aren't you a runner!' he laughed merrily. 'Though I don't think it was easy in your current state.'

Tom was shaking violently with coughing fits and supported himself on the wall of the nearest building, not trusting his trembling legs, which threatened to give in under him.

'I promise,' Harry breathed out. 'I won't do anything improper to you. But you need to allow me to – ahem – hug you, so we can move to a safe place. Then I'll explain you everything, I promise!' He spread his arms wide in an inviting gesture. 'I can't tell you everything while we're on the street among the Mug – err – people. If you want you can think of me like of – Special agent?' Harry finished unsure.

Tom furrowed. He was not a moron and wasn't going to simply believe this guy's words. Moreover, now he saw that this Harry was not very old, a young man rather than a full adult.

'Were your words about lawyer honest?' Tom asked carefully, not moving an inch from his place near the wall. 'You don't look very old to me.'

Harry gave him the same one-sided crooked smile Tom had seen on him earlier.

'You've got me, I'm seventeen,' he winked. 'And there won't be any lawyers or papers sent to that orphanage, true. But I needed to take you out of there as fast as possible. I was mistaken in my calculations – How old are you now? Ten, no?'

'Why should I tell you? You've said yourself, you've came specifically for me. Shouldn't you know my age then?' Tom replied, squinting his eyes in suspicion. 'And what calculations you were talking about? Are we – related – ?' Tom finished in half-whisper with clear hope mixed with disbelief lacing his voice. 'You're too young to be my father – Or no?' Tom added in doubt.

'Father?!' by the sight of it Harry wanted to start laughing, but quickly decided against it when seeing hurt and anger in Tom's eyes. 'No-no, nothing like this! I simply heard of you from an acquaintance of mine, who visited the orphanage recently.'

'There are a lot of kids there. Why me?'

'Please, I promise to explain everything and answer your questions, but not here. Too many people,' Harry threw a nervous glance around them, at the crowds mulling about here and there. They were in the center of the city, so that was no wonder. Tom was surprised that Harry seemed so uncomfortable.

'Where is this safe place you're talking about?' Tom inquired, still suspicious. 'Why do you need to hug me to get there?'

'It is small cottage in the suburb. I just moved in, so it's a bit bare, but I plan to amend this soon. I hope you will help decorate. But first we will need to do something with your sickness, of course,' Harry smiled disarmingly.

'What's with the hug?' Tom inquired again.

Harry sighed.

'There's this special way of traveling, which requires people to keep close to each other. I'll explain this later, too, in more detail, promise. But let's get out of here now.'

Tom slowly released the wall he was hugging for support, but made no movement towards Harry.

'I don't like liars. Bad things happen to them if I wish so,' Tom said, his face not expressing anything beside his tiredness from the chase and traces of sickness. 'Same happens to others, whom I don't like,' he raised a brow suggestively. 'Marta broke her leg last spring because she'd made my pet leave.'

Harry just nodded calmly, seemingly not disturbed by Tom's words.

'I blasted my Uncle's sister once, when she talked badly of my parents,' Harry supplied with his usual crooked smile. 'Someone I knew made a pig's tail for my cousin, because he ate my birthday cake. Things do happen,' Harry winked.

Tom wrinkled his nose in disgust.

'When you wink like that one can think you play with a kid. Mrs. Cole calls it 'flirting', I think,' the young boy remarked.

Harry blanched.

'I am sorry! I didn't mean to! Tom, let's move out, please! The longer we stay here the more chances there would be that this Mrs. Cole remembers anything inappropriate.'

'Like what?'

'Like my age. Or face. Or the fact that I kidnapped you from under her huge fat nose,' Harry smirked.

'Kidnapped?!' Tom stumbled from the unexpectedness of it.

'Yeah. I made her think I am you rich distant relative. Uncle, I suppose. Or grandfather maybe. She never saw that I look seventeen. At least I hope so,' Harry snorted. 'Or she would never allow me to take you away and not leave a huge sum for her use in your place,' Harry explained.

'How did you manage that?'

'That's a long story. And you're sick and tired. Let's get you to the warm bed and I'll tell you anything you want to know.'

Tom sighed defeated.

'You won't leave me alone, won't you?' he asked tiredly.

Harry shook his head.

'Never. That's a promise.'

Tom snorted.

'And if I want to be by myself?'

'You will need to cope with my presence,' Harry smirked.

Tom furrowed.

'Are you going to stay in the water-closet with me? In the bedroom when I will be older and will want privacy with my fiancee?'

Harry let out a laugh.

'I didn't mean it so literary! Of course you will have your fare share of privacy! And I am certainly not a voyeur! I plan to give you your own room in the cottage. What do you think, will it be enough of a privacy for you?'

Tom's eyes widened.

'The whole room?! All for me?!' he breathed out.

Harry nodded.

'Why? Are you really just a stranger? No relation?' Tom inquired.

'Unfortunately, no. We don't share blood,' Harry stumbled upon his own words. 'No, I am not related to you.'

Tom squinted his eyes in suspicion.

'What are you not telling?' he murmured lowly.

Harry let out a sigh of long suffering.

'Before we leave the street I wouldn't be able to answer most of your questions.'

Tom rolled his eyes.

'Why are you so paranoid?'

'That's too will be answered later,' Harry grumbled with discomfiture. 'Are you leaving with me or not? I can still make you, you know. I don't want to, but you're not leaving me any choice.'

'Why?' To repeated this question for the umpteenth time this day. 'Why are you so bend on taking me with you?'

'I want to help you, Tom,' Harry replied in tired voice. 'Is it not enough?'

'Are you rich? You said Mrs. Cole thought you are.'

'I am not eating from gold plates, if it's what you're asking. But nor I am poor as a street beggar. You won't need anything if you come with me, that's for sure. I plan on getting a job, too. I hadn't brought too much money with me, only to buy a house and to support us both for some time.'

'From where? Where did you come from? You're talking as if you just recently arrived to England.'

'Because that's true. I just moved in, as I've said earlier. I am not able to tell you more right now.'

Tom stepped closer to Harry and raised his head to look him in the eyes. His funny glasses in the frames, which had been mended too many times, got in Tom's way. Looking as innocent as he could, the young boy asked:

'Could you remove your glasses for a second? I want to see the face of my future foster father,' he gave out sweet toothy smile, knowing full well about dimples making him look like a total angel.

'So you can ran again, while I am half-blind?' Harry snorted. 'I don't think so, young gentleman. You won't buy me,' he smirked. 'You can look all you want when we reach the house. And now come,' he suddenly grabbed unsuspecting Tom by the shoulder and brought him to his chest in a tight hug.

Before Tom could struggle free again he heard Harry murmur some strange nonsense and spin on the spot, dragging Tom along.


	2. Chapter I

Next second Tom felt as if he was roughly dragged in all directions at once, and also like he was flying at the same time. The sensations didn't last long, though. After another half-minute or so Tom felt solid ground under his feet again, though his dizziness remained, making his head spin and his surroundings blur.

Harry sighed loudly, as if fighting a dizziness of his own.

'Here we are,' he said, his voice a bit harsh. 'This is a cottage I was talking about,' still holding Tom by the shoulder, Harry led him forward and made an inviting gesture with his hand, demonstrating a small house in front of them. The walls of the two-story building were white, window-frames and the door were made of dark red wood, and the roof was also dark red in color. There was an almost round lake behind the house and Tom saw other houses on the opposite shore – it was probably some village or small town.

Tom glanced up at Harry before going closer to the cottage.

'Welcome home, Tom!' Harry opened the door and led him inside. 'I hope you like it! It's not much, but still comfy, I hope.'

Once inside Tom looked around with curiosity. The first floor consisted of only one room, with a small kitchen and the dining table for two in one corner. The rest of the space was almost empty with only a fireplace at one wall. Everything inside was done in the same white and red, the floor was made of dark-red wood as was the kitchen and the dining set. There was a staircase of the same dark-red wood, leading up to the second floor.

'There are two rooms, a study and a bathroom up there. You can choose any one of the two bedrooms, I don't mind,' Harry said urging Tom to go up, lightly pushing him on the back. 'I've been here for only two days, so pick any room you want. I'll move my things if necessary.'

Tom nodded silently and climbed up the stairs to look.

The second floor was the same white and red with dark-wood accents for doors and balustrade of the same material going along the stairs.

Tom opened the first door near the staircase and looked inside. It was the study Harry mentioned, but aside from huge old oak table and empty book-shelves there was nothing in there. There wasn't even a chair or anything beside the table.

Tom went to the next heavy-looking door and opened it. This looked like master bedroom: big four-poster bed with no hangings or bed-sheets stood in the middle, taking most of the space. There was also a wardrobe and a dusty vanity table with a dirty mirror above it and another fireplace on the wall opposite the entrance. Tom saw another door in one of the walls, the one in the head of the bed.

'That's bathroom there. We would need to share, at least for some time before we do something about it. If you don't like it, I mean. Or we can leave it like this,' Harry explained.

Tom went to the bathroom door and peaked inside: again the same whites and reds met his eye. The theme was somewhat broken by the old copper bath-tube and sink of the same material. The toilet was of course white, though it looked in need of good repairs and cleaning. Going through the bathroom Tom opened the second door and stepped inside the other bedroom.

This room was a bit smaller, then the first one. There was single bed with a bedside table near it and smaller wardrobe. Another door led to the corridor outside and that was it. This room, like the rest of the house seemed bare and dusty.

Tom didn't notice any of the 'personal things' Harry mentioned earlier, though he didn't look inside any of the wardrobes. Both rooms looked similar, aside from their size and beds, making choosing between them harder for Tom. He knew, of course, that logically the master bedroom should belong to Harry, as he was the owner of the house. Suspecting, that he would be told off and confined to the smaller room either way, Tom decided to pick master bedroom just for the spite of it.

'I like the bigger room. You can move your things now,' with his nose high in the air claimed Tom.

Harry just shrugged and went to the mentioned room, opened the wardrobe and took out several small items out of it.

'No problem. I don't like too much space, honestly speaking. You can have this room,' Harry smiled at him.

Tom blinked in surprise. Well, Harry's reasoning seemed truthful, but he felt that something was off anyway.

'What of the bed? Aren't you going to need the bigger one? Or are you planning to move them?' Tom wondered.

'Why should I need the bigger one? I am totally okay as it is. If you prefer big room and wide bed, that's good,' Harry responded, shrugging.

'Well, aren't you going to meet someone?' Tom supplied, not sure if he liked the idea.

'Meet someone?' echoed Harry. 'Like dating, you mean?' he stared in bewilderment at Tom for a second, than laughed bitterly. 'No, I don't think I'd be dating in the near future,' he shook his head, averting his eyes, but Tom noticed the suspicious glitter in them.

'What happened?' Tom blurted out suddenly.

Harry's face fell.

Tom cursed his own wide mouth. Why did he feel the need to pry right away?! He should have waited a bit, like a month, or at least a week, before sticking his nose into the other's affairs.

'I didn't mean to – You've said you can explain why you came for me when you'd bring me here. Let's talk,' Tom hurried to talk over some nonsense Harry took in his head after his stupid question. 'Should we go downstairs?' grabbing still distraught Harry by the arm Tom dragged him from the room and towards the stairs. 'Do you have something to eat or some tea here, by the way? I'm starving!'

'Oh, right! Of course! There should be some cookies, I think, and milk in the kitchen. How are you feeling overall? Still feverish?'

Tom threw a sideways glance at him. Just moments ago the older boy was depressed, but now he was bubbling merrily, as if he'd forgotten about Tom's question entirely, focusing on the issues at hand.

'I am a bit dizzy still,' Tom admitted. 'And I think the fever hasn't gone away fully yet.'

Harry nodded.

'I should have some medicine among my things, I think. I'll look for it after we have lunch.'

'Milk and cookies are not lunch,' Tom snorted. 'That's called snack. We need to go to the grocery to get something more serious,' his nose again was high in the air. Just who was this Harry guy? Adopting a child – no, kidnapping a child – and not having any proper food for him!

'I'll go later. For now cookies will do,' Harry replied. 'You're right, let's talk,' he nudged Tom towards the kitchen.

Tom sat at the table, while Harry looked in cabinets one by one, searching for the cookies he promised.

'Ah, here!' at last he found the box and a bottle of milk. 'I hope you like oat cookies, because that's what we have,' Harry gave him the box and opened the bottle, but froze in mid-motion looking thoughtful. 'Blast! I don't have cups yet – ' he trailed off and threw a strange glance at Tom. 'Maybe, that's for the better,' he mumbled under his nose, as if to himself.

Then Harry produced a strange instrument from his sleeve. It looked like a wooden stick children used when playing in mud, but it was clean and its surface looked polished. There was a handle, too, which Harry held tightly in his fist. Harry swished the stick, softly speaking some strange words, which sounded to Tom like Latin he heard in church, where the caretakers took orphans sometimes. When Harry waved this strange stick Tom saw couple of sparkles flash at its tip, after which two ugly looking cups appeared at the table in front of them. Harry pursed his lips, clearly not satisfied by the results.

'Not very pretty, are they?' he smirked. 'They will disappear in an hour, so we better drink the milk, while we still can,' his smirk widened at Tom's bewilderment. 'Don't be afraid, Tom.' Harry poured some milk in one of the cups and smelled it suspiciously. 'Still good, you can drink it. Or maybe you'd like it hot?' he pointed the stick at the cup.

'No, that's okay,' quickly grabbing the cup, Tom hurried to say.

Who knew what would happen to the milk if Harry tried to heat it. Judging by the cups, the failure was quite possible. And there weren't too much milk in the bottle, just enough to fill two cups, maybe. He wasn't going to risk it, and if the case with the bedroom was any indication, Harry would gladly give his portion to Tom, if he'd spoil half the milk.

His suspicions were confirmed: Harry grabbed two cookies from the box for himself and nudged the box towards Tom. He was certain, that if not for some stupid form of politeness, requiring tasting the food you offer to your guest, Harry would have left all the cookies and milk to Tom.

'Talk,' Tom demanded after making a sip from the cup and taking a bite of the cookie.

Harry sighed. Put away the cup and rubbed his face, then looked at Tom.

'Firstly, I really need to ask, how old are you now? That's very important for both our safeties, so, please, can you answer honestly?' in pleading tone said Harry.

Tom rolled his eyes.

'I turned eleven last December.'

'Shit! That's not good. Not good at all,' grumbled Harry. 'Come here, Tom,' he beckoned the boy closer, again taking out his strange instrument.

Tom recoiled from its view.

'No-no, no need to be afraid! I want to simply hide you from anyone who might be searching, nothing more. It's not painful, I promise!' Harry exclaimed.

Tom furrowed.

'You only promise,' he grumbled.

Harry snorted and waved the stick above Tom's head.

He really didn't feel anything, but Harry's cautious expression changed to the more calm one.

'Here, you're all set,' Harry smiled. 'And now let us talk!'

Tom nodded, sat and looked attentively at Harry.

'Can you remove your glasses now?' as polite as he could asked Tom, the overly innocent look back on his face, complete with toothy smile and dimples.

Harry squinted his eyes in suspicion.

'Why are you so keen on seeing my face? It's not very different from your own, you know,' Tom caught another of those strange looks in Harry's eyes. Someone can look like this when remembering something not very pleasant, which they are trying really hard to forget, but can't, for a long time.

'I'd like to see for myself, please,' casting his eyes down, replied Tom. 'If it's not a true bother, of course.'

Harry shrugged with a defeated sigh.

'Here,' at last he put off his horrid glasses and Tom managed a brief glance into his eyes and mind. He didn't found anything there. Only emptiness, laced with sorrow and bitterness. Blinking, Tom averted his eyes with a sigh of his own.

'Thank you,' he said quietly. 'I've seen what I wanted.'

That was not totally true: he had been looking for traces of deceit, of bad intentions towards his persona, or something to use against Harry if necessary, but instead his insight just brought more questions, like the one he blurted out earlier, which, quite possibly would offend or sadden Harry again. And for some reason Tom didn't like the idea of distraught Harry, already beginning to like his cheerfulness and bright character, peeking through every move and word, even though Tom knew him only for couple of hours at most.

'Talk?' Tom urged the elder man. 'You've said that you'd be able to tell me everything when we're away from people. So tell me all. Please,' he added as an afterthought, seeing that Harry furrowed at his demand.

Harry sighed deeply and rubbed his face, as if nervous for some reason. Tom raised an inquiring brow at that. Despite his earlier prodding, Harry must be hiding something, if he is that nervous. Or not?

'Okay,' Harry dragged out slowly. 'Ask your questions, I'll try to answer them as truthfully as I can for now.'

Tom shook his head.

'That's not "talk", that's interrogation, you know. Tell me yourself, what _you_ want to tell. Not what _I_ want to know.'

'You're too clever for your age,' Harry snorted.

'And you're too dumb for yours,' Tom retorted, but hunched his shoulders instantly and his hand jerked up in defense, as if he was expecting a blow.

'That was not very polite, eh?' Harry was still looking at him calmly. 'You don't bite a hand feeding you. Ever heard of this saying?'

Tom nodded nervously and looked up at Harry, his pose still defensive, but with hope written all over his small face.

Harry smiled.

'You can talk your mind, I won't punish you for expressing yourself. That's a promise. But you need to promise me something in return. Talk to me, don't bottle everything up inside. Don't hide anything and I will be honest with you, too.'

Tom blinked in bewilderment. What was that about? Did Harry somehow happen to learn, that Tom had looked into his mind? Or was that simply a warning for the later?

Not sure, if he should open up to Harry, yet, Tom decided to pretend that he didn't get the hint. Anyway he was never totally honest with anyone, it was simply impossible. When they'd learned about his devilish abilities they used to either drag him to the church or to beat the crap out of him. Sometimes they just ran away scared, but he didn't think Harry was one of those weak chicken-hearts. A coward wouldn't dare deceive Mrs. Cole and kidnap her best prize from her. And Tom, despite Mrs. Cole's hate for him, still was one of her "boys" whom she could sell to the port at the end, if nobody would buy him as a play-thing.

When Tom still didn't say anything after a long moment of thoughtful consideration, Harry cleared his throat.

'You remember, I told you about my aunt? That was the truth. And that was not the first time. When I was around your age I accidentally made a man turn to dust, simply touching him. He'd hurt me and tried to hurt many others. There was also that one time my friend's sister almost died – ' Harry abruptly stopped his musings. 'Crap, I promised to help with your fever! Let's see if I have anything useful in there,' he took several small things out of his pocket. Tom recognized the items as those Harry removed from the wardrobe in the master bedroom.

Taking out his unusual stick Harry touched the items with its tip, murmuring another almost-Latin word. The items suddenly grew into an old-looking trunk, big crumpled suitcase and a worn-out rucksack. Harry immediately began rummaging through them in search of promised medicine.

'Aha! Here it is! I was sure I have it!' producing two small funny-looking bottles with colorful liquids inside Harry turned to Tom and held one of the bottles out to him. 'Drink this and don't worry. Your fever should leave right away. I'll take this one,' with a crooked smirk added Harry and, uncorking the second bottle, calmly upended it in one gulp. He scrunched his nose and squinted his eyes in disgust. 'Ugh! It might taste nasty, but it really helps, trust me.'

Tom eyed the bottle in his hand suspiciously.

'Should I take a sip out of your vial? It's not poison, seriously.' Harry winked at him. Again.

Tom made a face at him, but this managed to distract him from his suspicions enough to comply with Harry's inviting gesture and drink the liquid from the bottle. It's taste really was horrid, and all Tom could think in the first few seconds was how not to embarrass himself in front of Harry and not spew it back out. But then awful taste dissipated and he instantly felt better: his headache disappeared and his muscles stopped aching. He tried to take a deep breath, expecting the usual coughing fit, but instead felt that his nose was not clogged anymore and his throat was not hurting, too. He looked in surprise at Harry.

Harry gave him even wider smile than before.

'Are you ill, too?' Tom asked, suddenly realizing, that Harry just now drank from the other bottle, too.

'Oh, that's just a Pepper-Up. I've spent too much time without sleep, so felt worn out a little. And my head began to ache a bit just now,' Harry explained.

Tom looked down in shame. That last bit about headache could be his own doing. He knew that some people felt the same after he looked into their minds.

'I'm sorry,' he blurted out, despite his own better judgment. 'That was my doing, I think. I – I looked into your m-mind – ' Tom again made a defensive motion. Now he would be thrown out or beaten, for sure!

Harry sighed.

'I appreciate your honesty,' he said in quiet and serious tone. 'I don't appreciate the deed itself, but it's good that you told me what you did. I meant what I said earlier: I will not punish you if we talk things through. And in any case I would never put a hand on you, you can trust me on that. I don't believe in corporal punishment.'

'But how are you going to punish me, if not beating me?' in small voice asked Tom. It was dreadful, but he'd be better prepared if he knew what to expect. Looking at Harry from under his eyebrows Tom awaited the answer.

'We talk things through. I might deny you something you desire, like sweets or going outside, or buying you a book you want. Something like that. I will never resolve to beating!'

Tom nodded minutely in understanding. That was fair. With that he could cope.

'And now let's talk,' Harry repeated suddenly. 'Can you, please, tell me, why you felt the need to look into my mind?'

Tom looked at Harry in bewilderment: he talked of looking into someone's mind like it was nothing! As if Tom just looked into girl's bathroom or something similarly stupid. As if Harry believed him!

'When are we going to church?' asked Tom carefully, not responding to Harry's earlier question.

'Church? Do you need to?' Harry looked surprised and confused. 'I don't know if they have one in town,' he admitted still in bewilderment. 'But if you need one, I'll see what we can do to get you there.'

Tom just stared at him. When Harry agreed to believe him about reading one's mind, he thought it was just a trick to calm a freak down and drag him to the priest to exorcise the demon out of him.

'Why are you looking at me like that?' Harry asked him suspiciously. 'Did I said something funny?'

Tom shook his head negatively, still unable to comprehend all this.

'You're not thinking I am a demon?' finally asked Tom, when Harry didn't said anything more on the matter. 'Mrs. Cole took me to the church five times. She wanted the demon to go away,' his voice lowered in shame.

'She needs to be exorcised herself, this demon-Cole,' Harry grumbled. 'Fine. We'll deal with your mind-reading later. And now listen to me very carefully, Tom.'


End file.
